


The Abyss

by K4t3yK4t



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dur'sal'in'dial'lath'in, Here Lies the Abyss, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, post-Adamant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K4t3yK4t/pseuds/K4t3yK4t
Summary: Wherein Silas is understandably not reacting well to what happened in the Fade after the siege of Adamant Fortress. Dorian comes to provide some some comfort. A little one-off that isn't directly tied to Dur'sal'in'dial'lath'in, but is at least in the same AU





	The Abyss

It was cold. Or rather,  _ Silas _ was cold. He felt cold, and could feel the creeping, aching dread of a nightmare he wished he could forget. But this time, it wasn’t a nightmare. This time, it wouldn’t just go away once he woke, once he pulled his mind from the Fade and returned to the waking world. This time, it had cost a life. A dear price to pay. How many times would people pay for his life with their own? How many more times would he  _ let _ them? 

Beside him, Hawke walked with the deadened eyes of somebody who’d seen it all, and wasn’t surprised to see it again. Her shoulders weighed heavy with the same all-consuming exhaustion Silas felt, and slumped down at the fireside bonelessly. Varric came up beside her and handed her a flask of something that smelled strongly like ale with wordless camaraderie. Silas wished that he could so easily find comfort in his friends. Then again, he had blood on his hands… Again. 

It had been Hawke or Warden Stroud. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to make Silas choose who to kill? How could he kill  _ Hawke _ , with Varric fleeing in his line of sight up the cliffside? Silas knew the bond the two of them shared, saw it now with them braced shoulder-to-shoulder against the ice that still gripped them all, despite the heat from the fire. 

Silas swore under his breath and turned from the scene. He walked until the glow of the firelight was replaced by the glow of the stars overhead. They were still at Adamant; or at least near it. Although everyone had agreed that they’d had more than enough trauma for one day, nobody was keen on staying at the site of such a massacre. They’d parted ways with the Wardens, Silas avoiding their questioning gazes and shying from their thanks. He didn’t deserve thanks; not from them. Not for this. 

“Haven’t you spent enough time looking at the abyss for one day?” 

Silas turned to see Dorian climbing the dune behind him. It was, for once, blessedly calm in the Approach, but even still, the footing was treacherous. Eventually, the Tevinter came up behind him, looking up at the sky too.

“It’s better than looking at the looks on everyone’s faces…” Silas replied dully. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dorian tip his head to contemplate him instead, and Silas felt himself shy all the more. 

“ _ Amatus… _ Nobody blames you,” came his eventual, soft reply. “You were faced with an impossible decision, it--”   
  
“Still ended someone’s life, Dorian,” Silas spat back with more bile than he intended. He watched Dorian frown and approach closer, feeling the hand that he put on Silas’ shoulder. Oftentimes, that touch would be a source of comfort, of reprieve. Now, though, it only made things worse. Silas shrugged away from it. “How can they not blame me?”   
  
“The Wardens are hardly faultless,” Dorian started, but Silas vehemently shook his head. 

“The Wardens were being used! Just like the Mages, just like the Templars, just like  _ me! _ ” The tears came, then, and shocks of electricity crackled over Silas’ skin, illuminating him in the semi-darkness.

“It always comes down to it, doesn’t it? Someone else getting used for the gain of another! Someone else suffering,  _ dying _ because one person has to make a life-or-death decision! Because for some reason, the Gods decided to give  _ me _ that power, and now I’m stuck playing Lord over thousands of people and deciding whether they live or die!” 

Another shock of electricity, a crack of thunder, and suddenly, Silas was pressed against a familiar chest. His nose filled with the bouquet of Tevinter spices that Dorian doused himself in each morning, mixed with sweat and the sharp ozone-smell of the Fade. Beneath all of it, the wisping scent of Dorian’s magic, that heady, musky smell, like an overturned log. Without really meaning to, Silas breathed a deep, shuddering breath, and clung to Dorian, burying his face against the Tevinter’s cuirass. 

“You mustn’t blame yourself for Stroud,  _ Amatus _ ,” Dorian murmured in his ear, smoothing his gloved fingers against the bristling fuzz of Silas’ hair. Usually, Dorian was the first to point out when Silas needed a haircut, but apparently right now wasn’t the time for such ribbing. “You made the best decision you could, in the moment. I’d like to see anybody else make a better one, faced with a ten foot spider as you were!” 

“I’m so sick of being responsible for people’s lives,  _ vhenan… _ ” Silas whimpered, curling up against Dorian as if he could hide himself away completely. Despite everything, he felt Dorian smile, still delighted by the pet name even during a moment like this. 

“You have not just brought ill to people, you know. Some you have helped for the better. My humble self included,” Dorian reminded him. Silas snorted, despite himself. 

“ _ You? _ Humble? Mythal’s breath, I’d like to see that someday.” Silas finally got the courage to look at his lover, and saw only concern. Not judgement, not pity. He tried to manage a smile. 

“Perhaps one day when the world doesn’t have use for my many talents,” Dorian obliged, relieved. “Come along, Silas. This may be a desert, but we’ll bloody freeze out here if we stay a moment more.”

“Could we… Stay here awhile longer? Perhaps you could show me more of your constellations?”    
  
“... Oh alright, I suppose. See there, that star just above that rock formation east of us? That’s the nose of the White Wolf, Fenrir….”

“We call that one  _ Av’ingala’o’Fen’Harel _ .”

“I prefer our name for it, it’s shorter.” 

_ “Fenedhis.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing massive for notes here, lovelies! 
> 
> _Av’ingala’o’Fen’Harel_ roughly translates to "Fen'Harel's teeth" since I couldn't find a translation for "grin". 
> 
> Of course we all know what _vhenan_ and _amatus_ mean by now, right? ;) 
> 
> And it wouldn't be my fic if I didn't try to stick _fenedhis_ in there somewhere.


End file.
